Unexpected Paths
by Nighteyes27
Summary: Sirius/McGonagall, after the final showdown with Voldemort.


Unexpected Paths

Summary: Two old soldiers reunite and find comfort in each other.

Spoilers: Through and including Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Rating: R for strong themes, adult material (including violence and a non-explicit relationship), adult references, and some language.

Author's Note: This is my first HP fic. Critiques/comments welcomed, flames will be ignored, please r/r. A note about continuity: the flashbacks occur during the period of time of Harry's seventh year. Also, I'm assuming Sirius was twenty-five when James and Lily were killed and he was imprisoned. This started out as a vignette, but somehow lengthened.

Archiving: Drop me a note at MegCA86@aol.com to ask, otherwise, go right ahead.

Disclaimer: Nothing herein belongs to me except the actual story. No copyright infringement is intended; I'm making no money for this. All characters and places herein are © J.K. Rowling and/or her publishers. This was written for entertainment purposes only.

            Sirius Black leaned against the tree trunk that stood next to him. _What was I thinking, coming here, _he wondered, _after all this time?_

            The old hollow looked almost exactly as he had last seen it twenty one (but it was actually only five, because then it was uglier and darker and _not _Godric's Hollow) years ago, except for the graveyard. But twenty-one was the number when it looked as it had now-pure, untainted, not evil, as it had been five years ago.

            _None of us could escape this_, Sirius thought bitterly. _Somehow, it all revolved around here. Godric's Hollow. Oh, God, why did I come?_

            But he knew why he had come. He had come to pay his respects, and to finish grieving. But coming was also penance.

            He had failed in his promise, made twenty-two years ago.

            _Lord_, he breathed. The entrance gates to the cemetery loomed in front of him. The choice was obvious-stay or go.

            He shuddered. Staying would be horrible, and masochistic, and painful. But leaving would be far, far worse. He knew-as certainly as he knew his own name-that the downward spiral he had plunged into starting five years ago (with the help of the bottle two years ago) would reclaim him, and he would never escape. As it was, he had gotten damn lucky the first time.

            Sirius took a deep breath. Squaring himself, he gave himself a mental pep talk. _It's now or never, Padfoot, old boy. Let's go._

            Walking in, he found himself in a pleasant spot. Almost a picnic spot; it was picturesque. Not at all what he'd been expecting. It was sunny out, the weather being perverse and deciding to be good. The sky's azure blue-unmarred by any cloud-contrasted sharply with the bright green of the fresh-cut grass. A small stream meandered through, crossing the clearly marked path under a wooden bridge.

            The path was obviously meant to be followed, and Sirius followed it over the bridge, to under a pair of broad trees, shading the gravestones they overlooked, providing a welcome respite from the harsh sun.

There was a small gravesite on each side of the path, as well as a small information lectern sitting next to each. He went to the left-handed one, and squatted down. There was simply a name there: 

VIKTOR KRUM

            Sirius skimmed the lectern of information, not really seeing it, knowing already it was a basic rundown of Krum's life, accomplishments, and the part he'd played in the Great Battle. Hell, Sirius had helped to write it; he was one of the two members left of the Nine.

            His eyes closed as he remembered.

                They hurried up the path, all nine of them. Krum and Malfoy were in the lead, then Dumbledore and Harry, Hermione and Ron, and Sirius, McGonagall and Lupin bringing up the rear. Their faces were grim; they weren't dressed in a wizard's black robes. On the contrary, they wore black flexible dragon's hide boots; dark, flexible pants; long-sleeved dark T-shirts; many-pouched utility belts that already contained any number of things; a string of protective amulets everywhere; and, finally, sunglasses and radio headsets. They each also carried a variety of weapons: guns, daggers, swords, knives, pikes, and spears were only the beginning. All carried bottled, deadly potions. All in all, they looked like they were ready to start a war, and they were. Gone were the naïve children and idealistic adults; grim, hard-faced soldiers were all that remained, willing to kill.

                All of a sudden, two wizards blocked their path. They obviously were ready for intruders; one, without preamble, launched a fireball at Hermione. Krum ran, pulling out a bottled potion, and throwing it at the man. The man screamed as acid destroyed his face, melting his brain in the space of three breaths.

                Without breaking stride, Krum launched himself in a full body-tackle at Hermione. She cursed and broke the shielding spell she was about to complete, as it would harm him. He was successful in knocking her out of the way; however, the fireball hit him instead. He fell, screaming, to the ground. Hermione, knowing it was futile before she begun, summoned seawater to douse the flames, but it was too little, too late. Krum was on the ground, and Hermione rushed to him, screaming and crying, begging and ordering him not to leave her. He simply smiled at her.

                "I love you," he said quietly. She smiled through the tears. "And I love you," she'd said softly in return, "Even if you are a big, dumb Seeker, you idiot! Getting in the way of my shield!" she'd snapped. Krum didn't take it personally-he knew she had to rail at something. They shared one last, desperate kiss, and then Hermione was clutching his limp body to hers and shuddering, wanting to cry, but knowing she couldn't afford to grieve too much now, or sob.

            Sirius smiled softly. _Those two were so in love, it was so obvious. Hermione was crushed by his death-I believe, no matter how much it hurts, that her fate was kinder to her than life without him would have been._

            He moved to the other side of the path. Once again skimming the lectern, he was unimpressed, and turned to the gravestone. There, the inscription read:

DRACO MALFOY

                In the meantime, Malfoy had petrified the other wizard. The seventeen-year-old defector from Voldemort's legion was talking softly and ferociously to the captive. She snarled back, and-before anyone knew what was happening-she swiftly changed form into a huge wildcat and had leapt for Malfoy's throat.

                Even as the Animagus-for that's what she had to be, because, through some strange quirk, Petrification spells worked on Transfigured humans but not Animagi-was clawing and ripping at Malfoy's throat, He had pulled out a gun and shot her five times at point blank range, hitting her twice in the head.

                Even so, she had ripped his jugular. He was down in a fantastic spray of blood, coating everything scarlet. He died within ten seconds.

                By that time, Hermione had composed herself. She, and the other six, formed a circle around the dead bodies of Krum and Malfoy. Heaping what remained of Malfoy and Krum into a pile, Dumbledore had silently summoned hot fire to burn them away to ashes. Once that was done, Dumbledore extinguished the fire.

                "They will be avenged ten times over," McGonagall had said quietly. Then they had all turned and remounted the path. Grief was for later. Cold, hard rage was more useful now.

            Sirius shook his head. _Two casualties, within the first hour of our plan. In retrospect, it wasn't the most brilliant of plans-stroll right up to Voldemort's headquarters and bring the place down round his ears? But it was the one unexpected thing to do-the _only_ thing to do._

            Still, Viktor and Draco died pretty pointlessly, and against average wizards to boot. If Viktor hadn't tried to play hero and save Hermione (for he knew well that she knew shielding spells-in the heat of the moment, he probably forgot), and if Draco had just killed that bitch, instead of trying to gain information we would have already known, though it was a small chance, they might have lived to this day.

            But, enough, Sirius. You were brought up better than to speak ill of the dead. Draco, Viktor, you didn't die in vain.

            Sirius paused to dry his eyes, and then walked down the path.

            Sirius continued down the path, letting the calm, peaceful garden-like area soothe his frazzled nerves. Walking on, he came to a scorched area on the ground, a scorch that hadn't faded in five years.

            Sirius smiled bitterly. This was the place where Krum and Malfoy had been cremated…the beginning of the end for their little resistance band of nine, which had held out for three months after Voldemort's silent conquering of England's magical population. Remembering those times, Sirius sighed. At forty-six, he felt three thousand.

            Continuing on, he came to two more graves and lecterns. The graves read:

REMUS LUPIN

and

RONALD WEASLEY

            _Hello, Moony. How're you doing up there? I suspect you're wishing you could kick me in the ass for being this moan-y and weepy. Hell, right now, I wish you _could_ kick me in the ass. And you, Ron. I don't know what to say to you. I hope you're happy now; you're a national hero, revered by everyone. Fred and Angelina named their first child after you; Percy's started a fund for underprivileged children of poor families in your name. God, I wish you could see it._

                It was nearly pitch-black when the seven of them had reached the entrance gate to the Dark Lord's stronghold. Ron and Lupin crept up to the two Muggles standing guard and easily and silently snapped their necks. Crossing the threshold, the group entered a courtyard. Sirius's lips drew back from his teeth. Somewhat ironically and spitefully, Voldemort had chosen to put his stronghold on the outskirts of Godric's Hollow-where the Potters' house had stood before their untimely deaths.

                All of a sudden, a sick yellow-green light had illuminated the courtyard. Wizards and Muggle soldiers had surrounded them. After a few moments, a voice, high, thin and intense, crackling with power and hateful, boomed.

                "Kill them all."

                Suddenly, they were mobbed. McGonagall, Lupin and Sirius hastily shielded themselves and the others. McGonagall, Lupin and Sirius stood in a triangle, hands clasped, deep in concentration, maintaining the shield. The shield couldn't last forever, but they had one thing in their favor: the opposing warlocks and witches had to be careful of the spells they threw at the shield.

                Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Dumbledore were free of all constraint, however. They alternately used Muggle weapons, spells and potions to kill or incapacitate large numbers of the opposition. Suddenly, an arrow pierced Lupin's chest. He staggered, falling to his knees. The shield flickered, then, as he let out a great shuddering sob and was still, the shield died completely.

                "Son of a _bitch_!" Harry had exploded. "Run for the entrance! _Now_!"

                And they ran, fighting every inch of the way, becoming blood-splattered. Not all of it was the enemy's blood, either; Sirius saw McGonagall receive a slash over her right eyebrow that seeped blood sluggishly, he himself felt a sword's bite more than once.

                Hermione was the first to reach the great oak door. She pulled out her wand.

                "_Alohomora_!" she snarled wildly. The oak doors swung open so fast the boom they made when they hit the stone was deafening.

                She stepped over the threshold and immediately began conjuring a shield. "Hurry!" she'd shrieked,  
                Sirius and McGonagall had reached her at the approximate same time. Dumbledore was next, his long nose once more broken.

                Ron and Harry were having problems, however. Ron had a gash from shoulder to hip on one side, and was bleeding heavily.

                "C'mon, Ron, we gotta go," Harry said, supporting Ron. McGonagall and Sirius hurriedly began to throw spells at the oncoming horde, which was staying a bit back from Ron and Harry, attesting to the damage they'd done.

                "No…you go on…leave me," Ron gasped, his skin turning a sick yellowish color. "Can't…make it…anyways…." Blood had accompanied a racking cough, and Sirius's eyes had squeezed shut in pain. Something had punctured Ron's lung; he'd die now, unable to breathe. And they didn't have the time to stop and heal him.

                "No!" Harry had snapped fiercely. "You're my best friend, dummy! I'm _not_ leaving you!"

                "I'd only…slow you down," Ron wheezed out. "Go!"

                Sirius, pain in his eyes, had moved fast. He grabbed Harry by the scruff of his neck and pulled him over the threshold, detaching Harry from Ron as he did so. Beside him, Hermione exhaled in relief as she let the shield close behind Harry and Sirius.

                "Promise me you'll take care of Ginny!" Ron had looked back, wild eyed, at Harry, whose own eyes were open in disbelief.

                "I promise!" Then Harry was banging on Hermione's shield, but it was no use. Ron had his back to the shield, desperately trying to hold a rearguard action.

                "Damn it, _go_!" Ron had shouted. Harry swallowed once, then nodded.

                They all turned their backs and fled the scene. They ran, up and down corridors, and Sirius would've sworn he could hear faint, mocking laughter.

                They were down to five: Sirius, McGonagall, Dumbledore, Harry, and Hermione.

                They stopped to eat, treat their wounds and to resettle their nerves. Sirius stitched the cut McGonagall had received above her eye, and was captured by her dark eyes as he looked down. He quickly refocused on stitching, so he wouldn't have to think about the emotions running rampant through him. They found a deserted small storeroom, and took turns sleeping in shifts, after scouring the room for anything useful and making sure the room had only one door.

Sirius reached the end of the path…the place where it reached a small, well-kept building. The building was tended well and built well, obviously intended to last. These next three graves would be the hardest.

Sirius walked in, hurting. The building was one-roomed, and contained three plaques, a small offering place filled with small momentos and offerings, and a long list of every person's accomplishments. The plaques read:

HERMIONE GRANGER

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

HARRY POTTER

"They hurt, don't they?"

The question was unexpected. Sirius whirled around.

The woman he now regarded was about his height. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a bun. Her square glasses framed dark eyes. Her skin was pale, and, although she was covered from ankles to wrists by emerald robes, Sirius knew that there was a scar on her left forearm. There was a scar over her right eyebrow.

"Minerva," he breathed. The Headmistress of Hogwarts gave him a brief, pain-filled smile.

"The plaques, I mean. They are so…impersonal. In fact, this entire exhibit hurts. It's meant to be educational, a place where children can go and learn about the final defeat of the Dark Lord Voldemort, where they can go to learn of the great sacrifices-" she put a barely perceptible sarcastic accent on the word sacrifices "-the wizarding world made to defeat Voldemort."

"But it's not…right," Sirius agreed. "You and I were there…." And his eyes closed in pain as he remembered.

Sirius swore to himself. This was not good.

They had been stumbling blindly around, McGonagall and Sirius having changed into their shapes of cat and dog, respectively, hours ago, to better try and locate where they were, or at least find someone to question. However, the labyrinthine hallways were deserted, and Sirius was beginning to have the sneaking suspicion that Voldemort had ordered his followers out of his fortress, the better to play cat-and-mouse with them.

Suddenly, they had turned a corner, and found themselves in a great hall. What was worrisome, however, was that the room was filled with Death Eaters and Voldemort.

Sirius and McGonagall both changed back to human instantly. All five had their wands out and ready, and Sirius's gaze swept the ranks of the Death Eaters.

The Lestranges. Sirius's lip curled; they had been down the hall from him in Azkaban. Next to the Lestranges were Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

"Lucius, Narcissa," Sirius said without preamble. He knew he was taking a cheap shot and a possibly dangerous risk, but it was worth it. "Draco sends his love, His ashes are back on the path to this godforsaken place, if you want them."

Narcissa wavered, as though she had been struck. Lucius didn't show any emotion, however, apart from gray eyes narrowing and blazing with some strange emotion.

Sirius surveyed the rest of the crowd. He saw Avery, Macnair, Nott, the Parkinsons, Crabbe, Goyle, Bagman, all with children attached, And Snape. As Sirius watched, Snape and Dumbledore shared a look. Sirius had no idea what about, but it seemed intense, and he seemed to be the only one who noticed. They were few out of many, though; all together, those in the room must number at least seventy-five.

And above them, the Dark Lord. Voldemort, Tall, white as a chalk, red slit-pupiled eyes, two vertical slits for a nose. Voldemort smirked.

Suddenly, Dumbledore roared something. It sounded very much like a spell, but it was no spell Sirius had ever heard.

Voldemort, looking horrified and stricken, had slowly toppled over, landing on all fours on the ground. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!?!" he demanded of Dumbledore.

Dumbledore didn't answer. He lay on the floor, a slight smile fixed on his features. He was pale, stiff, and cold, unmoving. He was dead.

The four left charged into battle. Harry arrowed straight for Voldemort, Hermione with him, protecting his flank. McGonagall and Sirius, on the other hand, went back-to-back in the melee, their goal to cause as much damage, and take out as many Death Eaters, as possible. They ducked and wove, turning within the crowd. They were very fortunate; the rules of melee combat again worked in their favor, as every time a Death Eater missed, the curse hit another person. They were hit by the Imperius and Cruciatus curses more than once, but gritted their teeth and went on; Dumbledore had long ago taught all of them to ignore and escape the influences of those two particular curses.

That didn't mean it didn't hurt, however,

They were lucky, as well; the four or five times someone tried the _Avara Kedarva_ curse, it missed, and hit another Death Eater. Quickly, the crowd of Death Eaters learned not to use the Killing Curse.

Suddenly, they were joined by a third person, his back to theirs. In the heat of battle, Sirius and McGonagall shared the philosophy of "The enemy of my enemy is my friend." But after Sirius twisted and saw the newcomer's face, he stared.

"SNAPE?!?!"

The former Professor snapped something in Latin to Sirius, Sirius stared; translated, the phrase had been "Lemon drops and the Brotherhood!" That, in Latin, was Dumbledore's identification phrase of all his agents; he'd perfected the spell to bury it deep within their minds, unreachable, until the time they chose to reveal themselves. That meant Snape was a double agent.

"McGonagall…." Sirius began. "I heard," was his terse answer, and then, as a fireball singed him, he turned his full attention back to the battle.

But they were losing, slowly but surely. McGonagall received a slash on her left forearm; Sirius got a shallow slice down the center of his chest, and he broke his left arm. Quick healing spells stopped the loss of blood, but the pain was still turning them dull, when they couldn't afford to. Snape had inhaled the fumes of some nasty potion and looked as if he could collapse at any moment.

At one point, a howl rent the room. They all turned in shock; the howl was unlike anything any of them had heard before. It was not quite human; almost but not.

Voldemort was on his knees in front of Harry, who looked pale and exhausted. A knife handle was sticking out of Voldemort's chest; it and Voldemort were shining a glittering crimson, pulsing with light.

Harry turned his back on Voldemort as the Dark Lord let out a final, shuddering breath, and was still. His body disappeared in a flash of light.

Harry stooped to pick something up by his feet, and a terrible grief twisted his features. The body of Hermione Granger was cuddled in his strong arms.

"Your Dark Lord is dead," Harry said, palpable sarcasm on every word, as every Death Eater in the room stared at him, shocked and horrified. McGonagall, Snape and Sirius edged back towards the doorway, getting the remaining Death Eaters in front of them, 

Harry caught the eye of Snape, McGonagall and Sirius and nodded. As one, pointing their wands to the room at large, they cried, "_PETRIFICUS TOTALUS_!"

Every Death Eater in the room stood Petrified, All except one.

"NOOOO!" Sirius howled, sounding more like the dog he was when he transformed than a man.

Lucius Malfoy stood behind Harry, a bloody knife in hand, a smirk of triumph on his face. As both McGonagall and Sirius cursed him with the disarmament curse, he was thrown back into the stone wall of the chamber. There was a sickening thud when his skull met the wall and Lucius Malfoy sank to the floor, never to rise again.

Sirius, Snape and McGonagall stared at each other, then McGonagall voiced the question they were both thinking. "What the hell do we do now?"

Minerva's lips twisted bitterly. "Well, we did have to free the captives, in the dungeon."  
            Sirius snarled silently. The memory of Cornelius Fudge, whimpering, confused, still made him shake with suppressed rage.

"To think that that- that- son of a HAG could've prevented it all, and didn't…." Sirius, furious, trailed off.

Minerva sighed quietly. "Yes, especially when you consider the only reason he didn't prevent it was his political career-which is over now, anyway-and an attitude of, "If I shut my eyes, it won't be true."

"Well, you know what they say," Sirius bantered back faintly. "Denial isn't only a river in Egypt."

"Yes, and then the trials," Minerva said with a small laugh. "Imagine! Severus Snape having been on our side for ages, only going in there, and pretending to have gone back to Voldemort, only to spy for Dumbledore!"

"Yes, lucky for him we thought of giving him Veritaserum, and he consented…and at least this time, all of the Death Eaters were convicted and installed in Azkaban…after we reinstated the dementors, of course," Sirius said, quietly but with a note of amusement in his voice. "Moody was _so_ happy that most of those that got away the first time were brought to justice now!"

They were quiet for a few moments, then Minerva said, timidly, "Come back to Hogwarts with me?"

Sirius felt something stir in the pit of his stomach that had nothing to do with grief and everything to do with some other emotion; as proof of that, Sirius felt a hot flush all over.

"I mean," Minerva hastened to add, "We haven't really seen each other in-what, three years now? God, Sirius," and here she laughed and embraced him, and Sirius did the same to her, which only increased the hot flush he felt all over, "Your new job-whatever you do-has kept you so busy. And it is summer break-no awkward questions asked." 

"My problems have also kept me occupied for the past year, considering I'm between jobs," he reminded her quietly. She pulled back slightly.

"Problems, Sirius?" she questioned lightly, but unable to disguise the anxiety in her eyes and voice. "Between jobs?"

He stared at her blankly. "Hagrid hasn't told you?"

She took his elbow firmly. "No. We really need to talk."

"It started about four years ago, after they all- died- and all the trials were over," Sirius stood, brooding, looking out the window in Minerva's private quarters. He was leaning on the windowsill, next to the balcony doors. "I just…once everything was done, it really hit me, you know? It was like…as long as I kept busy and had something to do…I didn't have to think about it, didn't have to accept it.

"But what could I have done, after we were all done with the trials? I was basically a specialized Auror before I was imprisoned-" Minerva gulped silently at seeing the dead look that entered Sirius's eyes whenever someone spoke of Azkaban "-I mean, I worked for Dumbledore against Voldemort in conjunction with James, Lily, Remus, and- Peter." He spat the name out with hatred. "I had nothing to do now. Snape and Hagrid remained teachers here, and you became Headmistress, but I couldn't, not when I would have had all my old memories of this place."

"I quite understand," Minerva reassured him quietly. "Whenever the memories became too much for Severus, Hagrid or I, we always sought each other out, and found solace in talking, ruminating, with each other. Because we are the only ones on the staff who _really_ lose someone we knew well. To the others, Harry was an extraordinary student. To Hagrid, Severus and I, Harry was like a nephew, almost, after he worked with Snape in his sixth year on that project. Hagrid had always been fond of him, and I got to know him well in the months when the nine of us were on the run. It's hard for us, coming back, with so many reminders of those we lost. But it would have been many times worse for you, old friend."

Laying a hand on his forearm, she felt a tingle go through her when they touched, but dismissed it.

"Yes," he said quietly. "I spent some time at the Ministry, with the Weasleys, hoping that they could help me deal with what happened-I mean, they were and are at peace with Ron's death, I hoped they could help me. But they couldn't.

"So I traveled around, just-helping people, Muggles sometimes, with their problems, because it was easier to deal with their own that to deal with mine. During that time, I fell deeper and deeper into despair…then, one day, after spending two years in a fog, I found myself at the Leaky Cauldron. I got drunk.

"From then on, wherever I found a pub, I would get rip-roaring drunk…I shudder to think what I might have done, as I really don't remember…then I ended up in Hogsmeade, at the Three Broomsticks, about six months ago…Rosmerta and Hagrid were there, and they got me out of there…got me off the bottle…it was slow and painful, but eventually I broke the habit…then I knew I had to come here, because I needed to deal with my repressed emotions about it…but enough about me. What about you?"

Fighting down a _completely_ inappropriate surge of jealousy at the thought of what Sirius might have done with certain other women while drunk, she said lightly, "Well, Hagrid went back to being our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, Severus is still Potions Master-"

"Wait a minute!" Sirius was staring at her, bemused. "Snape isn't the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher? The position was wide open, because Remus-!"

"Severus doesn't want it," Minerva cut him off quietly. "He said, and I quote, 'I've had enough of the Dark Arts to last me three lifetimes, Minerva. I need no more reminders of the past.' And I'm Headmistress."

"Since when are you and Snape on first-name terms?" Sirius demanded. Minerva thought she saw something akin to jealousy flash across Sirius's face, and her heart leapt, but in a moment his face was closed, and her heart eased back down into its proper position.

"Since we became good friends-and no, we're not involved, we're just very good friends," Minerva said, putting his fears to rest. "But while we're playing twenty questions, why did you cut all contact with me for three years? I realize you were - addicted to drink – but why didn't you ever tell me any of your emotions?" She hoped the hurt she felt didn't show in her voice.

Sirius sighed. "I was wrong to cut you out of my life completely, I admit. But…you reminded me of…that fateful day five years ago. In my drunken, despairing state, you represented everything I'd lost. I was wrong, and I'm sorry, but that's why I did it. I had to come to terms with my own emotions before I could handle you. I owed you at least to show up being clear-minded."

"I don't blame you, Sirius," Minerva whispered, feeling the old pain sweep across her one last time, before she let it go. "It just- hurt- is all."

Before she could say another word, she was enfolded in his arms. Her arms went around his neck; his hands buried themselves in her hair, which he was busy taking out of its bun.

Then they were telling each other intimate secrets, things they had never told anyone else and would never had guessed they would, before that night. Eventually, there came a lull in conversation, and Sirius, with his easy, little-boy like charm, asked for them to sit down.

"My legs are getting tired," he admitted sheepishly. She grinned and laughed, and detached herself from him long enough for him to sit down in a chair, then sat in his lap, hugging him once again, curling up against him. They were quiet for a while.

"While we're being candid, Minerva, I've a confession to make," Sirius said quietly. He had just realized this himself, moments before, and had to share. "I…care about you, in a more-than-friends way, and I want to know how you feel about it."  
            "I care about you in the same way, Sirius," Minerva breathed quietly. They simply contemplated each other for a moment.

"God, where do we go from here?" Sirius groaned, burying his face in Minerva's long, soft hair with a sheepish laugh.

"How about here?" Minerva whispered. She tilted Sirius's head so he would meet her eyes, and kissed him.

And, oh boy, what a kiss it was. Minerva flashed back to when she had first gripped her wand (twelve inches even, containing a dragon's heartstring). She saw the same sparks she saw now.

Sirius, for his part, thought some Muggles had exploded fireworks behind his eyelids. Had it been this way for James and Lily, he wondered idly.

They kissed again, several times, before coming up for air. Minerva stood up and tugged Sirius towards her king-sized bed.

"Please, Sirius?" she asked him. Not begging, not pleading, but communicating her wishes all the same.

"Only if you're sure," he answered back. He knew that she must know his desire by looking at him, but didn't want to push her into doing anything she didn't want to.

Minerva, for her part, enjoyed the feeling of being coddled and treated gently, with a man who was almost too courteous and sensitive to be real.

"I'm sure, Sirius. I need you tonight," she stated matter-of-factly.

He just looked at her for a moment, then a crooked grin spread over his face.

"Then come with me, darling girl," he laughed, sweeping her off her feet and into his arms as he walked over to the bed.

It felt very nice, Minerva thought as she woke up, to be held protectively in strong arms that felt if they'd never let her go and always keep her safe. She grinned, and snuggled closer to Sirius in the predawn light.

"It's a good thing it's summer break, otherwise you'd have one helluva time explaining to the staff and students why I'm here," Sirius's voice burred in her ear amusedly.

She chuckled, rolled over, and kissed Sirius soundly. "Morning," she drawled softly.

He grinned in return. "Morning."

She spent a blissful few moments curled up with him, then groaned. "We need to get up," she announced regretfully, untangling their limbs and rolling out of bed. "I'm taking a shower-you can use it when I'm done. I'll try and leave some hot water."

"Minerva," Sirius called, "After seeing you right now, the last thing I need is _hot_ water," he grinned.

Not missing the emphasis he placed on _hot_, Minerva smirked. "Sirius Black, you-you-you little rascal!" She stalked off, mock affronted, the very picture of affronted dignity, and Siriuis chuckled-he saw right through her. Then he heard the tap going.

At this time of day yesterday he had been despondent and depressed. Amazing what a change twenty-four hours could make.

Minerva walked out of the bathroom, toweling her hair, already dressed in her black robes. Sirius chuckled, rolled out of bed, yawned, cracked his back, winked at Minerva, and sauntered into the bathroom.

It's a good thing we Apparated to his house last night so he could pick up a couple of spare clothes and his broomstick, was her only thought before she walked out onto the balcony. 

            Sirius came out of the bathroom whistling. He was happier than he'd been in a long time. He noticed that the doors to the balcony were open, and Minerva was leaning against the railing with her elbows on it and her chin cupped in her hands. He went over to her, folded his arms around her waist and lay his chin on her shoulder.

            "You must be a _veela_, Minerva-" he whispered softly, "-because you've bewitched me."

            She grinned helplessly and turned around, still within the circle of his arms, to kiss him.

            "Sirius, I've been thinking," she said quietly. "Old Moody's retiring from the Defense Against the Dark Arts post-he wants to give retirement another try," she said. When he snorted in amusement, she gave him a reproving look, although her eyes twinkled. "You're more than qualified for the post. Do you want it? I'll understand if you say no, of course," she hastened to add, "but-!"

            "Say no?" Sirius asked blankly. "Why would I do that? There's no place else I'd rather be than with you."

            And they both felt the truth of that statement, and Minerva felt tears coming to her eyes. She put her head on his chest and let her tight grip on him communicate her feelings.

            And the sun rose on the pair of lovers, intertwined.

            Bringing with it new challenges and fears. But also new joys and experiences. And the good times would always be worth the bad, they both new.

            And, for the first time in a long while, both Minerva McGonagall and Sirius Black looked forward to the future.


End file.
